


You Are Lightning

by Aifrit



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Developing Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lust, Mild Smut, POV Second Person, Relationship(s), Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aifrit/pseuds/Aifrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never thought meeting this girl would turn your entire life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Title: You Are Lightning  
> Pairing: Lanille (Lightning/Vanille)  
> Rating: M for language and mild smut  
> Words: 3,553  
> Song Inspiration: None
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic.

The warm body tucked into your chest pushes into you, and you manage to catch the remnants of their scent. It stains your memory like a painting, and you're sure that retrieving it later will return nothing but calm wilds and a moonlit evening. But for now, there's more.

It's Vanille.

She's spicy and warm with a hint of refreshing citrus. It's almost crazy that it models her personality perfectly. But you didn't exactly see that when you first met, oh no. What _you_ saw was a loud, over-excited teenager who doesn't understand personal space.

You never paid attention to her. She was an enigma, a loud, exuberant enigma. Too bubbly, too playful, way too fucking nice. Too nice for you, anyway. She's Serah's best friend and a complete afterthought in your mind. At least, that's what you thought. Vanille had her own plans, it seemed. Whenever you saw her on her visits, she stared way too long and hard for your liking. It was uncomfortable, and you ignored it. She'd ask you questions, in that telltale Oerban accent, and you gave short answers. She'd try to start conversations and you shot her down. You had to admit, the girl was persistent.

It had been several months of this going on, and you wondered why she hadn't quit yet. It was like some sick game for the both of you, and you found yourself becoming a little amused after a while. You admired determination and this girl was the epitome of it. Maybe, you thought, just maybe you could snatch an answer out of her. Might as well try.

"Why do you keep talking to me?" Blunt. Straight to the point. Very much _you._

"Because I like you," she said. Blunt. Straight to the point. …What?

Huh. For the first time ever, you felt an immediate interest in her. One simple sentence changed everything you _thought_ you knew about her. You knew nothing. And that was the most exhilarating revelation you've ever had. That there was more to her than just a running mouth and… cute face.

Well, maybe you _did_ notice some things about her after all. Her hair for one, as it's pretty hard not to notice a redhead, right? She's shorter than you, almost half a foot if your estimation was right. You made sure to make fun of her for that. And _god_ , was she whiny. Whiny and needy and _fuck_ you really just didn't know how to handle that, did you?

It took awhile, but you finally agreed to spend some time together. Watching movies, lunch dates, sleepovers. You were just past the age, but you felt like a teen making a new friend all over again. It was nice, you'll admit that in reluctance.

But something about Vanille was quite off. Sure, she all but admitted she liked you, but you still didn't know if she meant it. She's a touchy-feely person by nature, and that annoyed you at first, but you got used to it. Movies were the worst, though. She liked to cuddle and touch during them, innocently enough. You weren't sure if she was flirting or you were just being fucking dense. Picking up on those cues aren't your strong point.

Good thing Vanille sniffed that out. It may have taken several months for it to happen, but one night outside her apartment changed everything. You remember it like it was just last week. You dropped her off after a movie, and she looked at you with those impossibly green eyes. She smiled, you smirked. You were going to leave right there. She pulled you in by your collar and smashed your lips together. Whether you admit it or not, for the longest time you wondered what they tasted like and you finally had your answer. Too bad the strawberry lip gloss masked the true flavor. Oh well.

You ached and burned at your core. You wanted more, desired more. You closed in like a leopard stalking prey, hungry and high off lust. She kissed you again, but pushed you away. She wasn't having it, not that night at least. Rejection hurt a little and your senses went wild, as if compensating for the pain. You smelled the stale, bitter stench of urine in the hallway, your ears pounded with rushing blood, and your palms sweat. Your palms _never_ sweat.

Vanille grabbed you again (god, she's rougher than you imagined, huh?), and your foreheads and noses met, and it's there that you realized that her eyes weren't _just_ emerald, they've got little flecks of gold in them too. Cute. She seemed conflicted at her actions. Her lips brushed yours. You fought the urge to steal a kiss, but her pace was more important. She respected that. Two ravenous kisses later, and you suspected that maybe she was starting to like how your lips felt. Before you could grate the question out, she pushed you against the wall and retreated into her apartment with a sultry, accented send-off.

"Bye, Lightning."

And that. Was just the beginning.

The sleepovers grew more common, though most of the time it was just curling up on the couch and watching movies. No touching, not then. Neither of you seemed completely ready for it anyway. That or you both were just too damn nervous to after that first kiss. Though, if you're being honest, you were afraid that maybe you'd get way too into it and lose yourself in a way you haven't before. You maintained a great deal of control, but Vanille was changing that in you, slowly but surely. Every thought during your days included her in some form. It left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

And that's how it stayed for a while. At least until Vanille began testing the waters, so to speak. You noticed. _Of course_ , you noticed. She liked to touch, but she took it a step further. No longer were just her hands involved, but soon her lips. On your hands, your cheeks, your ears, _your_ lips. Knowing Vanille to be quite forward, it amused you that she was acting so coy.

That didn't last long at all. Before long the two of you would have make-out sessions, ignoring the movies with minimal touching, but just far enough that you'd be set on fire for the rest of the night. Those were the best nights for you.

But nowhere near as great the one that painted the canvas of your memory the most. Vanille visited you for dinner and a movie, having just finished her last class of the day. She was tired and needed a shower. You let her. Out of the shower, she needed clothes. You let her borrow yours. Something clicked in your head when she walked out, and you couldn't stop stealing those furtive glances for anything. Vanille picked up on it quickly, kept a smirk on her face the whole night. The second the movie started, she pounced you, right in your lap, and attached her lips to your neck. You couldn't keep track of how fast your clothes went missing. One minute your shirt was gone, the next were your shorts. You retreated to gain some ground and backstepped into your bedroom with Vanille hot on your tail.

She pushed you onto _your_ bed, the nerve, and mounted you with her knees digging into your ribs. She glared at you, primal and hungry, and you hadn't seen her face anywhere close to that since the first night you'd kissed. She wasn't heavy by any means, but you could tell she was using her weight to her advantage by keeping you pinned (and she probably assumed you didn't have the strength to move her or she just didn't think about it). You didn't like being controlled. Never did.

So you reached out to yank your shirt off her torso, and in literal seconds, you had a nipple in your mouth with fingers raking through your hair and the warmth between her legs pressed against your lower belly. In those moments, you forgot everything. Nothing existed to you. And in the same fashion that you so feared initially, you lost yourself in studying every inch of Vanille's skin. How her muscles burned and ached under your touch, the gooseflesh she developed when your lips roamed, how her body rocked in time with your thrusts. The other side was no different. Your world shook with her head buried between your legs and her mouth performing some sacred, erotic dance. Nothing mattered but you and Vanille that night. It was beyond perfection.

And it only went downhill from there. Your trysts happened more often, sometimes in places deemed forbidden to the average person. Vanille felt good and tasted even better, but with every passing fuck, you felt pieces of yourself swallowed up by the next orgasm. You didn't know _what_ was going on.

Every touch was laced with uncertainty, every kiss marred by doubt. Vanille, being the perceptive minx you learned she was, caught on to your actions.

"What's been up with you lately?" She'd pulled you in to steal a kiss after dropping her off. It was late, rainy, and the weather unsettled you. It was like a mirror to your inner feelings, you just now realized.

You looked away, grumbled under your breath, and leaned in for another kiss to skip the ensuing conversation. Vanille pulled away, wasn't having that, as her eyes darkened and brows furrowed.

"Light. If there's somethin' wrong, please tell me?" Vanille looked guilty then, and you felt your heart sliding down your digestive tract. Vanille _never_ looked guilty. Hell, she never looked upset in the entire time you've been together. At that point, you were sure the chipper girl wasn't even capable of the emotion.

But you. Stupid, _stupid_ you. Are the reason why her eyes glassed over and her fingers trembled in yours. Your complete and utter lack of social skills was pushing her so far away you were sure if you woke up tomorrow she'd be halfway across Cocoon. But you stood there, mouth parted, deer-in-the-headlights expression as you could not utter a single word. You didn't _know_ what the problem was.

Vanille got the hint, whatever it was, and jerked away. Her door slammed in your face and you… you flinched. It stung. A lot. And you know you're the reason for it, but dammit, why couldn't you _speak_?

It's the first time Vanille's ever been mad at you, and you didn't know how to react. The coming days were met with dry text responses and shy hello's. The meetings and trysts you had slowed to a near halt. It irked you, but deep down you knew it was your fault. So you pulled away.

Maybe… maybe Vanille didn't want this like you did, you thought. This… what _was_ this? And it hit you. What _were_ you two? Were you dating? Friends? Acquaintances? Friends with _benefits_? There was never a conversation about it. Never even a _mention_. You did what felt good and never stopped to think about where you stood. And that terrified you. That maybe Vanille wasn't as interested as you were or maybe she wanted too much too soon.

So you stared at her name flashing across your phone screen after dark. It had been at least the third ignored call. You were confused, angry, and hurt. Hurt at all the maybe's and would-be's, the possibilities and assumptions. Looking back on it, you were stupid. And you admitted that.

A week flew by with nearly no contact until an angry rapping pounded your front door. You knew who it was, and you were _so_ tempted to not answer, but Vanille knew your schedule, planned her own events around it before. You couldn't escape it. Biting your tongue, you opened the door to see a red-faced and crying Vanille, and she pushed you inside. You growled, taken aback by the force, until she quieted you. A sharp, biting, and angry snap, and a part of you could not blame her.

"Where have you been? Why haven't you been answering my calls?"

You didn't answer, just stared at the floor.

"Lightning?" Her voice cracked; the sound broke whatever remnants of a heart you had left.

"Vanille. I…" You couldn't formulate your words properly. They were stuck in your throat. There was a half second of relief on Vanille's face because your pathetic ass was _finally_ saying something. But it didn't last.

Vanille shuffled towards you. She looked like she wanted to reach out and touch you, but the fear on her features was evident.

"Light, _please_. Just… tell me what's wrong."

"Why do you care?"

You remembered the expression on her face like it was yesterday. You'd never seen her so confused and angry. Probably would have been better if you'd kept your mouth shut, but you live and learn, huh?

She scrunched her face. It was the wrong time to admit to yourself, but it was cute. You mentally smacked yourself across the face.

Vanille went off. She yelled at you about how you're the only person she's _ever_ cared about, how you're the only person she ever fucking _thought_ about, how she's never given herself up the way she has to _anyone_ except _you_.

There were tears streaming down her reddened face, and she trembled. The protector in you wanted to embrace her, hug her and tell her that everything would be okay, and yet… you couldn't. You didn't feel worthy.

You felt stupid. Petty. Like a child. Everything she confessed to you was teeming with passion and honesty, and you stood there, feet cemented into the ground. And then…

"Light. Are you… are you seein' someone else?"

"No, no, fuck no!" is what you wanted to say but it never came out. The words lodged in your throat.

She nodded slowly.

_No, please don't go…_

Turned on her heel.

_Vanille, please…_

And left.

A part of you died, you were sure. The pain was unbearable, something you hadn't felt since your parents died seven years ago. A hole ripped out of your chest in that instant. You weren't shit and you would never _be_ shit. The one person who gave half of a flan's ass about you walked out because you were too fucking stupid to open your own mouth. Congratulations, you thought, way to fuck up one of the only good things going for you in your life.

You tried to justify what happened. It was toxic thinking, and you regretted every thought that passed through your mind. Vanille was wrong, you thought, there was never any indication of the status. And true, there wasn't, but what exactly stopped you from asking? What prevented you from saying "hey, I'm not sure about this, so can we clarify where we stand"? Nothing, was your first reaction, but fuck, if Vanille's body didn't feel so good against yours. What was there to question when all you really wanted in life was someone who understood your desires and needs?

Days passed. No contact. You slipped into a depression. Food tasted like shit, sleep was fleeting, work sapped your energy more than usual. All you wanted to do was lie in bed and wallow in your own misery and stupidity. And you did whenever Serah wasn't around. But somehow, you couldn't stop yourself from checking social media, thumbing through your timelines. You admitted your heart fell whenever you saw pictures of Vanille lining your feed. The girl's a social butterfly. You knew that when you got involved. So why was it surprising to see pics of her at various social gatherings and parties with friends? Was it maybe because she looked happy? Or the fact that she hadn't deleted you yet?

Day 39. You've counted. The numbness hasn't faded, only grown worse. You're still friends on social media. You wondered why.

Serah got involved, noticed your declining mood. She sat on your bed next to you and scratched at the nape of your neck as you lay on your stomach.

"You can't keep moping like this. It's killing me. Tell me what happened."

So you did. She and Vanille were friends, but she's your sister and your side's more important than Vanille's, she affirmed. You told her everything. Literally everything. She wasn't disgusted or turned off by it, but just sat and listened. She knew about your past relationships and all the failures those were.

You finished. She took a minute to process everything before smacking you on the back of your head. Not too hard, though.

"Talk to her, dumbass!" Her words were cruel, unlike her, but not untrue. Serah softened. "She obviously didn't delete you for a reason. Be the soldier you grew up to be. Be honest and tell her what the issue was. You know as well as I do how forward she is."

It was such a simple solution. Why couldn't _you_ have thought of that? All this lurking and moping around was getting nowhere. You were better than that. And yet… you were still afraid. This relationship or whatever it was meant a lot to you. More than anything. What if Vanille moved on or didn't want you anymore? Well, there _was_ no indication that she'd found someone else.

Serah was correct. You needed to be an adult and tackle the issue head-on. You texted Vanille and asked to meet up, said you wanted to talk. You got nothing but a simple and quick "okay" in response. Better than nothing.

The meeting happened later in the day, right at Vanille's apartment. You knocked on the door. Waited. Knocked again. She answered, stared at you with puffy but sharp eyes. Looked you up and down.

"Van, I just-"

And you were cut off. Grabbed by the collar and yanked inside, pushed against the frame of the door with a tongue shoved down your throat. Vanille moaned into the kiss and fumbled with your belt. Her height hindered her, and that was made more evident by her lack of balance and falling into you. You stabilized her, and she made quick work of yanking your belt off.

You stumbled upon words into the deep kiss, trying to gather your thoughts. Vanille shook her head, and yours followed suit.

"Talk later. Want you now. _Right_ now. Missed you…"

She dropped to her knees. Your pants went with her. Her confession left you dumbfounded, confused. You mulled over her words, and the fluttering in your chest was short-lived as she found her home between your thighs. You couldn't resist the autopilot response of your hand resting on her head, guiding and directing her. It was all too much, and with a rather ravenous kiss there, all your worry and doubt faded away.

Somewhere down the line, you tiptoed through the apartment, ending up on Vanille's pink bed and doing what you do best. It was the most mind-blowing sex you've ever had, and despite your false reputation for being a prude, you've had _plenty_ of sex. Vanille _felt_ like a different person, like she'd just come back from war with all the grizzled and hardened experience of someone who'd been on the battlefield for decades. Was this her true potential or was she just holding back all those other times, you didn't know for sure. And frankly, you didn't care.

You talked afterwards. Through tears and misunderstandings and just plain _listening_ , it was settled. Vanille… She didn't know what you were, apologized if she led you on. She admitted though, that she hadn't felt this way about a person ever. And neither had you. You couldn't explain the feeling but the way your bodies joined together was… unreal. There was an unbridled passion between you that was unspoken but well understood.

Your past relationships were all short-lived failures for one simple reason – your interests never lined up. It made you feel like an outcast in some regards. While people were so focused on the romantic aspect of relationships, you never felt the urge. It never… clicked with you.

And then came Vanille. You never felt the pull with her either, but the sex, holy _shit,_ the sex. It was beyond words. Simply divine. And that. That felt like a relationship in itself. Or whatever the equivalent of it was. It took you until now to realize that Vanille sought nothing more, has been transparent with you the entire time, and you… you were the one making assumptions. You pushed her away because of your own insecurities and lack of confidence.

She made you promise that day that you'd try to talk a little more. And you've been trying. So hard. Communication isn't your strong suit. Your words are better spoken through roaming fingertips and arching backs, and Vanille knows that. She's an expert herself. But she wants you both to last and knows that speaking to one another will be your saving grace.

So there's nothing left unspoken between you two. No issues outstanding and if there ever were, you'd stamp them out. But for now, ten months later, you're okay. You're good. You're together. You're _whole_. And though your own form of communication is a lot less verbal, more primal, it works out.

And that's okay.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wanted to put this note at the beginning but I didn't wanna spoil the story. I just wanted to try my hand at a fic through second person perspective. It's an interesting way to write, and I feel like, when done well, it can be really cool. I hope this fic was enjoyable because I was seriously debating on posting this or not. One thing I've really been wanting to highlight is the type of relationship they had. I've seen way too many typical romance fics and I didn't want to do that here, as there are other types of relationships outside of what we know as "romantic." 
> 
> Anyway, if you like it, please review! I'm considering doing one in Vanille's perspective for practice because I'm not the greatest at writing her. :P


End file.
